


Give the Lady What She Wants

by plumgal1899



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumgal1899/pseuds/plumgal1899
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen year-old Peeta Mellark helps Katniss out of a sticky situation. When they meet again ten years later, Katniss finally has the opportunity to express her gratitude. Modern Day AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 23, 2003

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lollercakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollercakes/gifts).



> Special thanks to my beta reader, the wonderful Honeylime08, for her patience and insight.

**Chicago, IL**

 

**December 23, 2003**

_I could just take it_.

The thought slips into my head out of nowhere and just kind of bounces around in there for a while. _No I can’t_ , I tell myself firmly, staring forlornly at the display sign that declares ‘Sterling Silver Jewelry: 25% Off Now Through Christmas.” Even at 25% off, everything on this table, everything inside this _whole store_ , is more than I could possibly afford.

This past year it has been all we could do just to keep food in our bellies and the lights and heat turned on. We are a little better off than we were earlier this year, since we moved into our little run-down, one-bedroom apartment. Papa’s small monthly pension payment is enough to pay the rent and energy bill, and the food stamps we receive are enough to ensure that we don’t go hungry anymore. But that has only been the case for the past few months. After Papa’s funeral, Mama couldn’t even bring herself to get out of bed most days. But she did manage to get down to the government office to sign-up for food stamps after hearing Prim cry for several hours straight because her belly ached from being so hungry.

So no, we are not hungry anymore, but there is no extra for treats or toys or anything like that. I can’t remember the last time we bought something that was not absolutely necessary. Needless to say, I know that there will be no Christmas this year. But Prim, who still believes that Santa visits all the good boys and girls, will certainly expect to see something under the tree come Christmas morning. I haven’t been able to bring myself to dash her hopes, even though I know she is bound for disappointment… I guess maybe I haven’t given up the hope that somehow, someway, it will work out and my sweet, innocent little sister will have a small moment of happiness after this year full of sadness.

I am startled from my sad thoughts by the sound of a high pitched screech from nearby. I look over toward a jewelry case a few yards from where I stand where a girl a few years younger than me, probably about Prim’s age actually, is stamping her foot and pointing at what looks a display of very expensive bracelets. “I want one of these!” she screams so loudly that several of the other customers begin to take notice.

“My darling,” an older woman, who I guess must be her mother, says placatingly, “Santa comes tomorrow night and he will be bringing you all kinds of pretty things. You can wait until then can’t you?”

“I don’t want to wait! Santa won’t be bringing me one of these! Santa doesn’t bring gifts from Marshall Field’s, and I want one of these!” Her screaming has gotten so high that I am tempted to slam my hands over my ears.

“Oh, now, my darling, we don’t behave this way do we?” her mother says placatingly.

I am shocked to see the little girl throw herself to the floor and begin kicking her legs violently and thumping her head against the hard tile. “I WANT ONE! I WANT ONE! I WANT ONE!” she howls over and over, pretending to cry very unconvincingly.

He mother crouches down, tottering on her high heeled shoes, her expensive looking camel colored coat dragging the ground as she attempts to subdue the girl’s outrageous behavior. “Okay, okay. I will get you one. We will buy you a bracelet today. Please just get up, sweetie.”

_Sweetie?_ A snort huffs out of my nose involuntarily. There is nothing sweet about that little brat. I could never imagine Prim acting that way. She is so gentle and sensitive and caring. Prim sees the good in everybody, loves to do little things to make others happy, and wants to take care of everybody and everything. Even with everything we have been through since Papa’s death almost a year ago, she has never once behaved as awfully as the spoiled girl currently picking out a piece of jewelry that is far more expensive than the simple lockets I have been looking at, knowing even they are far beyond anything Prim will ever own.

Suddenly I am very angry. It is just so unfair that this ungrateful little brat should have anything she could ever want and Prim will wake up on Christmas morning with absolutely nothing. I let myself imagine her beautiful little face lit with a smile as she unwraps one of these little square boxes containing a simple silver locket. If I could get one of these for Prim, I would even put a little picture of Papa inside it, so that she never forgets what he looks like.

I glance around quickly, noticing the spoiled girl and her mother retreating with a small red bag containing the little girl’s new bracelet that will probably be only one of the many expensive gifts she will receive this Christmas. I don’t think I even realize what I am doing when I grab one of the little sparkling silver boxes, clutching it firmly in my hand and then shoving it into my right coat pocket. And with the image of a silver locket containing Papa’s picture swimming through my mind, I snatch a second box off the display table, cramming it into my left pocket. Before I can think of anything else, before I can even consider what I have done, I turn on my heel and dart toward the door.

 

I almost make it to the front entrance, my heart beating furiously, when I am snatched backward as a strong hand descends on my backpack at the same moment that a loud voice hollers near my ear, “I’ve got her! Control, I have a shoplifter at the main State Street entrance!”

* * *

I nearly knock over a pyramid display containing hundreds of boxes of glass bulb ornaments in every imaginable shape and color as my wet boots slip on the glossy tiles, and I flail my arms out to balance myself. My eyes are too focused on the dark haired girl to pay much attention to where I am going. I’m not even sure why I have been following her around for the last half hour; it’s like my feet have a mind of their own, blindly trailing her as she weaves through the racks and displays. We accidentally bumped into each other entering the store as we both darted into the same wedge of the revolving door, and from the moment her liquid silver eyes met mine I felt as if I’m in some kind of trance, drawn to her and absorbing every detail.

Although she is small and slight, I still think she must be about my age. Her clothes are neat and clean, but very shabby- the tread of her sneakers is worn thin, the elbows and hem of her jacket are thin and fraying, an her gloves, the cheap, stretchy knit kind to begin with, are so threadbare that I doubt they do much to keep her small hands warm. Despite this I think she might be the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Her dark hair looks like shiny silk in the thick braid down her back, and that, combined with her warm, dark skin tone, make her unique eyes standout. They almost look like they are glowing beneath her dark lashes.

She doesn’t appear to be here with any grown-ups but, then again, neither am I. I have been saving my allowance from helping my dad in the bakery for the last few months so that I would have money to buy Christmas gifts for my parents and two older brothers. Dad let me leave the bakery early tonight- making me promise that I wouldn’t tell Mom- because he knew I had my eye on a cashmere scarf and glove set for my mom that I had seen at Marshall Field’s when I came shopping with him a few weeks ago.

I duck behind a rack of earrings as the girl stops in front of a table loaded down with discounted silver jewelry. The look of longing on her face makes me think that, even at the sale price, these items are probably far beyond what she can afford. It’s weird, even though I don’t know this girl at all, I can tell that whatever thoughts are filtering through her mind at this moment are sad ones. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of her as chews her lip and leans her face closer to what appear to be necklaces- lockets, I think- inspecting them thoughtfully. For some reason, I am fascinated by this and the general clamor of the busy store fades as I focus intently on her little white teeth pinching into her bottom lip, worrying it back and forth.

She looks up suddenly and my foggy mind slowly registers that her attention has been drawn by some sort of commotion nearby. I follow her gaze and am shocked to see that a little girl is lying in the floor having a temper tantrum. I shake my head as the mother gives in to the girl’s fit; I wouldn’t be able to walk for a week if my mother witnessed me acting that way…

I look back to the dark haired girl when the fuss has died down and she has focused back on the lockets in front of her, but her expression has changed. Her brow is furrowed deeply as though she is troubled by something, her expression seems less sad and more angry now. She looks… determined.

I almost don’t believe what I am seeing as she reaches out her hand, in her little worn gloves, and pulls one box from the table, barely glancing at it before she shoves it into her coat pocket. She pauses for a second and I think she is reconsidering, but rather than taking the box out of her pocket and replacing it on the table, she reaches out her other hand to grab a second box and quickly stows it in her other pocket.

Before I can even attempt to make sense of what she has done, she turns and flees toward the front of the store. I watch as a security guard that I hadn’t noticed before darts after her, clearly having witnessed her indiscrete attempt to shoplift the two items. Just as I have been doing since I entered the store, I follow automatically without even considering my actions, chasing behind the girl and the security guard as they head toward the front of the store.

My wet sneakers skid on the tiles again as I round the corner of the next aisle. The girl is making a left onto the main aisle down the center of the store. She is really fast, and it looks like she is actually increasing the distance between herself and the security guard, even though his legs are twice as long as hers. She has almost made it to the front of the store and for a split second I am elated, thinking that she just might make it out the door of the store where she will surely be able to evade the guard in the bustle of holiday shoppers out on State Street.

The revolving door where she and I bumped into each other earlier is only about 15 feet from her as she reaches the intersection where this aisle and the main front aisle meet. The guard following her is at least the same distance from her, and I am certain she will easily make it out to blend into the crowd on the street before he catches up to her. But just as I think she is home free, a second security guard materializes seemingly out of nowhere. Extending a long muscular arm, his fingers are just close enough to snag her backpack, ripping the main zipper and pulling her up short with enough force that her entire body is snapped backwards, her feet and legs still scrambling forward. The only thing that keeps her from falling down is the guard’s quick arm around her torso which holds her struggling form easily as he brings his free arm up to press a button on the speaker on his shoulder and he leans his mouth over to speak into it.

I skid to a stop, not sure what I should do… not sure what I can do. The first guard has slowed to a walk but continues his progress, causing the second guard to spin to address him with his arm still locked around the girl’s torso. As she is turned to face me I see that her face is set in defiance, but she is crying and her silver eyes look like mercury with tears of fear and frustration welling in them. Suddenly, her glance lands on me, those remarkable eyes locking with mine. Neither of us looks away, our gazes fixed on each other intently, and, once again, my feet begin moving of their own accord.

My heart is pounding as I approach the small group. I am terrified and exhilarated and totally unable to believe what I am about to do. Screwing up every ounce of courage I possess, I walk directly to the girl where she stands flanked by the two guards and declare, “Lisa! There you are! You know mom told us to be home by six. I’ve been looking all over for you!”

She looks astonished and confused by my statement. “Wha… what?” she stutters, looking at me warily.

I shake my head and force a chuckle, giving the guards a look that I hope conveys exasperation with the wayward girl. Looking back at her and annunciating each word as though I think she is having trouble grasping basic English I repeat, “Mom - said - we have to be home - by - six!” And then, as though it’s an afterthought I look at the two men and say, “So guys, how’s your holiday been so far? Pretty busy around here I bet.”

Now the guards are looking at me as though I’m crazy. “This is your sister?” one finally speaks up passing a skeptical glance between us. I can’t say I blame him. We look nothing alike- her hair is inky black and mine is golden blonde, her skin dark and mine fair. Not to mention the difference between her old, worn clothing and my new, name brand attire.

“Yeah,” I say casually, “well… step sister, actually.” I roll my eyes for added emphasis, hoping I am not laying it on too thick.

“Well, you may want to call your parents. Your _stepsister_ here was shoplifting, and the police will need to be in touch with a parent or guardian.”

“What?! No, that can’t be true,” I respond shifting my glance to the girl, trying to pass the silent message that she should just follow my lead. “What are they talking about, Lisa? You were supposed to be picking something out for mom and, um… Leslie.” Geez, am I incapable of thinking of a girl’s name that doesn’t start with ‘L’?

It takes her a moment to respond, but she finally speaks up in quiet, uncertain tones, “Um, yeah… I did… I, um, found these.” She wrests her arms from the guard’s grasp and produces the two boxes from her coat pockets. “I was, um, trying to find you… You said to meet at the entrance, right?” I hold a straight face, but I want to beam at her for adding this last touch.

I shake my head and roll my eyes again as though she is just too intolerably slow witted. “Nooo,” I drag out the word as though I am talking to a small child, “I said we should meet at the registers. You never listen to me!” The guards’ heads are volleying back and forth between us. “And now you see why. These guys probably saw you heading toward the exit and thought you were trying to steal! I swear, you can be so dense sometimes.”

Her eyes spark at me, as though she is annoyed by my superiority but she just hangs her head, not giving us away. “Sorry, officers,” I say. “She just doesn’t think things through.” I reach out and take the boxes from her hand. “We’ll just go pay for these now. I am holding on to her money for her. You can see why?” I look between the guards with a laugh, as though we are all in on some big joke together.

Her head snaps back up at this, “What?! No,” she says frantically. “I, um, decided against them. They are too expensive, I think… I, um, don’t think I’ll have enough.”

I look down at the necklaces and shrug- they really aren’t all that much, but my idea of ‘not much’ is probably a lot different than hers. When I look back at her I widen my eyes as to emphasize that she should shut up before she blows it. “No, you do. You have plenty.” I glance back at the guards. “Sorry, for the misunderstanding officers. Are we all set here?”

They glance between each other, clearly ready to be done with our antics. “We’ll just have to escort you to the register, and then out of the store. Just to keep you honest, kid.”

I give him my widest smile as though I have never heard a better idea in my life. “Just lead the way, gentlemen.”

Fifteen minutes later, I have used about half of my Christmas money to buy the two necklaces and the dark haired girl and I are walking north down State Street under the watchful eye of one of the security guards. As soon as we hit Randolph Street we take a right and both of us pause to breathe a sigh of relief. I am grinning like a fool, waiting for my heart rate too slow from the exhilaration, but somehow I don’t think it is going to as long as I am in this girl’s company.

Just as I turn to her to express my excitement over having outsmarted the grown-ups at the store I feel a very firm, very painful punch on my shoulder. “What did you do that for?!” The anger in her tone doesn’t seem to match her high, sweet voice.

“Ow!!” I exclaim rubbing my shoulder, my smile melting away instantly.

“Now what am I supposed to do? I don’t have any money to give you for those!” Despite her deeply furrowed brow and formidable scowl, her eyes are disturbingly wet and I am afraid she may be on the verge of crying again.

“I don’t expect you to pay me for them,” I assure her. “Consider them a gift.”

“I cannot consider them a gift! I don’t even know you, you can’t give me a gift. And I would never take anything from a complete stranger!” She crosses her arm and turns away from me. Oh no, she is definitely going to start crying again and I really don’t want that to happen. Something about the idea of this girl crying makes stomach twist unpleasantly.

“Okay, fine. My name is Peeta Mellark, I am 13 years old, my mom and dad own Mellark Family Bakery over on Grand and State, my favorite color is orange, and I really like drawing and painting. There now I’m not a stranger. You can accept them now,” I say, grinning at her when she darts a look at me out of the corner of her eye. It is hard to tell, but it almost looks as though she is trying hard to keep her lips from turning up into a smile. “What is your name?” I ask when it becomes clear she isn’t going to respond.

“ _Lisa,”_ she states, her tone oozing sarcasm.

I laugh bursts out of my throat. “Okay… _Lisa…_ Who are the lockets for?”

“What makes you think they are _for_ anyone? Maybe I was just taking them so that I can sell them,” she says defiantly.

“No you weren’t.” I catch myself before I say anymore. I don’t want her to know that I witnessed her actually contemplating the lockets, inspecting them and considering them, choosing them from a table full of jewelry despite the fact that they were nowhere near the most valuable items there.

“How do you know?”

I give her a cocky grin and simply say, “I just know.”

She looks at me warily for a few moments before she sniffs indignantly and proclaims, “Well, regardless. I _will not_ be leaving here today with those lockets. You bought them, you keep them. I didn’t ask for your help, _Peeta Mellark_ , and I will not be in your debt just because you decided to stick your nose in where it didn’t belong.” She speaks with such dignity and confidence you would think she was a queen demanding the allegiance of her subjects rather than a ratty little girl who narrowly avoided getting tossed out of Marshall Field’s by the scruff of her neck for shoplifting.

I scoff, “Yeah, well that’s some ‘thank you’! You’d be in a pretty big mess right now if I had just minded my own business.”

She huffs in a breath and turns her back to me again, declining to respond. I am struck with an idea as I notice her shabby old backpack gaping open where the zipper was ripped by the security guard earlier. “Look, it’s fine. I can just give them to my mom and sister,” I lie. I don’t even have a sister and a locket would be wasted on my mom- she’s not exactly the sentimental sort.

“Good,” she says quietly, seemingly mollified. She opens and closes her mouth a few times as though she wants to speak but isn’t quite sure what to say. When she finally does continue she simply says, “Well… I guess I should get home.”

I sigh in exasperation. She just might have too much pride for her own good. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you around… _”_ She nods and turns to continue heading east on Randolph, but I call out to her before she even makes it a few feet. “Hey, ‘ _Lisa!’_ ” She halts her progress, her back stiffening in annoyance, but doesn’t turn around.

_“What?”_ she murmurs through gritted teeth.

“Your shoe is untied,” I respond, grateful that she cannot see my mischievous grin.

She huffs out another breath, losing her patience with me, but crouches to tie it just as I was hoping she would. With her attention focused on her shoe, I seize my opportunity and, pulling the two small boxes out of the red Marshall Field’s bag, I lean down and slip them silently into the gap in the ripped zipper of her backpack. She doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as she straightens and begins walking away again without another word.

Unable to resist I laugh to myself and call out loudly after her, “Merry Christmas, _‘Lisa!’”_

 

* * *

 

 


	2. December 17, 2013

**December 17, 2013**

“I’m coming!” I shout pointlessly at my phone, ringing from the other room where it is plugged into its charger. The battery barely holds a charge anymore, so I try to keep it plugged in as much as possible. I quickly wrap the end of my braid in an elastic band and grab my uniform shirt from the towel rack as I race into the living room.

“Hey!” I answer brightly, pressing the faded ‘Talk’ button without even looking at the name of the incoming caller. I know it is Prim- nobody else really calls me and I am expecting a call from my sister.

“Heeey!” she responds enthusiastically. “I was hoping I would catch you before work.”

“Yeah, I am just finishing getting ready,” I say, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down so that I can pull my shirt over my head. “How was your last final?”

“Good, I think. I’m glad it’s done!”

“Me too! I can’t believe I’m going to have you to myself for three whole weeks.” I am in a better mood today than I have been for several months. I always considered myself to be an independent person, but I have to admit that it has been pretty lonely in this apartment by myself since Prim moved to Champaign to start college in August.

Prim laughs and says, “Well, Rory said the same thing so I think you two may have to learn to share.” Since I know she can’t see me I go ahead and indulge in a dramatic eye roll as she continues, “I promised him I would try really hard to spend time with him while I’m home. He has taken me being gone pretty hard.”

“ _I’ve_ taken you being gone pretty hard too!” I exclaim, a little wounded. Rory is the second son of our close family friends, the Hawthornes. Hazel Hawthorne was my mother’s best friend for many years and, having grown up together, Prim and I became very close with her children. Prim and Rory started dating when they were both 15. Gale, Hazel’s eldest, has been my best friend for several years.

“Katniss, I promise we will spend lots of time together. I can’t wait to see you, and I will have plenty of time to do both. You work like a million hours a week anyway! I’ll hang out with Rory while you are at work.” I don’t miss Prim’s scolding tone. She hates that I work as much as I do, but considering that the only jobs I am qualified for are low-wage service industry jobs, I have to work a lot so that Prim can focus on school instead of holding down a job. I don’t bother saying this though- we both know it. Prim doesn’t approve of our arrangement and thinks that we should both go to school part-time and work part-time, but I am stubborn and insist that she get her education without having to work. Thankfully she is smart as a whip and has always gotten excellent grades. Between her scholarships and the government grants we qualify for based on our low-income, her school is mostly paid for. My wages at the diner are just enough to provide her with some spending money and to pay for the one-bedroom apartment we have lived in for the past 10 years.

I sigh, not wanting to fight with her. “It’s okay Prim. I am happy to have whatever time I get with you. When will you be home?”

“I am going to stay for a while to clean up my dorm and then get together with a few friends for lunch. I’ll drive home after that and will probably be there around six this evening.” That sounds just like Prim, knowing she is not going to see her new friends for a few weeks, she _would_ make a point to have one last lunch with them. She always loves everybody and everybody loves her.

“Oh, damn! I won’t be home yet when you get here,” I say, trying to hide my exasperation. I am so glad that Prim is happy and social- a miracle really considering everything she has been through- but sometimes I just get frustrated that I am not at the top of her priority list the way she has always been at the top of mine.

“Really!?” she asks excitedly. “You don’t usually work that late. Do you have a date!?”

“No, Prim, I don’t have a date.” My lack of a personal life is the bane of Prim’s existence. It has always mattered much more to her than it has to me. I have had more important concerns- like enduring the death of two parents and keeping my little sister fed and clothed- to worry about trivial things like boys and romance.

You would think I just told her I am committing to a life of celibacy with as deeply as she sighs at hearing I don’t have a date. “Aren’t you lonely, Katniss?”

“What? No. Why would I be lonely? I have you,” I respond, and even I can hear the lack of conviction in my words. I know my intuitive sister isn’t going to buy this for a moment.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she says matter of factly.

Now it is my turn to sigh, “Look, Prim, I know you want to solve the world’s problems, but I am _fine_ being by myself. _Really,_ ” I add, hoping to sound a little more convincing. I hate talking about my personal life, it just depresses me and makes me realize how pathetic it is that at 22 years old I’ve never had a serious relationship. “I should probably let you go. I have to get to work.”

“Wait! You didn’t tell me why you where you are going after work.”

“Oh, um, well… I started volunteering at a soup kitchen a few months ago,” I say uncomfortably.  Now I’m worried she will deduce the reason I started volunteering is that I’ve been crushingly lonely since she left for school and have been trying to avoid being in my dingy old apartment as much as possible.

“Really? At Tesserae House?” she asks, figuring correctly that I would go to the soup kitchen/food pantry that is a few blocks from our house. It is the one we would frequent when money was really tight.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to be there from 4 to 7.”

“Okay, I can just stop by there as soon as I get back into town,” she suggests.

“Sure.” Her suggestion perks my mood up again. At least she is making a point to see me first. “Drive safely, Little Duck.”

“I will,” she assures me, and I can hear the smile in her voice at hearing me use my old endearment for her. “Love you, Katniss. See you soon.”

“Love you too,” I reply as I hang up.

I rush into the bathroom to finish getting ready for my lunch shift at the diner. After talking to Prim I am running late, so I only take a second to swipe a little mascara onto my lashes and forgo any further embellishments. I don’t even like makeup, but, sadly, I find that my tips are better when I wear it. I am gathering my keys and stuffing a change of clothes into my messenger bag for my shift at the soup kitchen when I realize I forgot my locket in the bathroom and hurry to retrieve it from behind the sink where I placed it before getting into the shower. I have worn it every day for nearly two years- since the day I found it enclosed in the short note my mother left for Prim and I.

Despite this sad chapter in the necklace’s history, as I fasten the clasp around my neck and tuck it underneath the collar of my work shirt it is not thoughts of my mother that flit through my mind. Rather, as I do every day when I put it on, I think of the sweet round-faced boy with the pretty blue eyes who helped me when I was at my lowest, for no reason other than to be kind.

* * *

 

I arrive at Tesserae House just in time to bolt through the kitchen to the small, dingy staff bathroom to change before manning the donation drop-offs for the night. I am grateful that Haymitch, the surly old drunk who runs the place, usually schedules me back here. I’m not much of a people person and, as a waitress, I’m exhausted from dealing with customers all day.

“Evenin’, girl,” the cook, Greasy Sae, greets me as I move quickly through the kitchen.

“Good evening, Sae!” I call, not bothering to pause.

“Hey, now. No need to be rushin’ through like that. Haymitch is in the back. It won’t hurt him to handle things for a few more minutes while you get settled in,” I hear her grumbling as I close the bathroom door. Sae and Haymitch have a love-hate relationship. They bitch about each other all the time, but I think there is genuine fondness between them underneath Sae’s take-no-shit attitude and Haymitch’s general grumpiness.

Once I have pulled on a pair of worn jeans and an ancient T-shirt that is so threadbare my striped bra is visible underneath, I tie one of the green Tesserae House aprons around my waist and head to the back.

“Finally decided to grace us with your presence, eh Sweetheart?” Haymitch mumbles sarcastically as soon as he sees me. He gave me the nickname back in August when I visited to pick-up a few things to get me through until my next paycheck. I told him that since Prim left for school I had free time on my hands and that I would like to start volunteering as payment for all the help I had received from the place. Haymitch had looked me up and down, snorted, and walked away muttering ‘well aren’t you just a sweetheart.’ I showed up the next day ready to work and the nickname had stuck.

I roll my eyes at him. “Go ahead and dock my pay,” I return. He barks a quick laugh and saunters into his office with a vague comment about having work to do. I’m pretty sure the only thing he plans to work on is a bottle of gin. I have to admit that I kind of like Haymitch despite myself. He may be an old bastard, but he did start up this place and he runs it even though he really doesn’t get anything out of it. Greasy Sae seems to think that he does it as some sort of atonement for misdeeds in his past. That is something I can relate to- I understand obligation and the compulsion to settle debts.

I set to work sorting and organizing the day’s donations and begin putting them on carts to be stocked out on the floor. It is a slow night, and I make good progress on the stacks since no new donations have arrived tonight.

I don’t realize how much time has passed when the door leading up to the front opens and one of the other volunteers, a middle age woman called Ripper, tells me I have a visitor. Prim bounces through the door looking bright and cheerful all bundled up in hat and scarf, cheeks flushed prettily from the cold outside. I drop whatever I am holding and we both start running until we collide, holding onto each other tightly for several moments. Prim is the first to pull away and she holds me at arm’s length, looking me over thoroughly.

“Katniss! I can see your boobs!” she declares loudly.

I laugh and turn to lead her back toward where I am working. “No you can’t. It’s just my bra and I don’t bother wearing good clothes here. They’d just get grubby and dirty.”

“You mean you don’t wear nice clothes here because you don’t own nice clothes… because you refuse to spend a penny on yourself,” she returns, taking on the parental tone she uses when she wants to scold me about not taking good enough care of myself.

“My clothes are fine,” I sigh. “Let’s not do this, okay.”

“Do what?”

“Do the thing where you lecture me about being too concerned with taking care of everything except myself,” I say.

“I’m sorry, Katniss. I don’t mean to lecture you,” she responds, sounding contrite. “I just worry about you. I want you to be happy, and you seem determined to sacrifice every chance at happiness that comes your way. It’s like the whole thing with Gale-“

“No. Stop right there. This has nothing to do with Gale,” I cut her off before she can launch back into the I-know-you’re-lonely-why-don’t-you-date-more spiel. She doesn’t understand how I can be so fond of Gale and yet not reciprocate the romantic feelings he has, or at least used to have, for me. I guess she wouldn’t understand it though. Her friendship with Rory developed into more so effortlessly and naturally. But as much as I’ve tried, I have just never been able to see Gale in that way… or any other guy for that matter. It was a particularly dismal day when Prim asked me to go with her to get on birth control last year. I hate knowing that my little sister is sexually active and I have never even had a boyfriend. There are just some things the older sister is expected to experience first…

I don’t want to argue with my sister, so I am relieved when we are interrupted by the bell ring that notifies us that a donation has arrived. I peek out and see a large red van backing up to the small loading dock. I pull the chain to open the roll-up door getting my first good look at the van. I think my heart might come to a stop when I see the charming white scrollwork on the side of the van that says “Mellark Family Bakery, Since 1942.”

_Holy shit._ I am well acquainted with that logo. In the months following my encounter with Peeta Mellark ten years ago, I stood outside of his family’s bakery more times than I could count, trying to work up the courage to go inside and thank him- trying to figure out some way to repay my debt to him for his kindness.

When I returned home that night after having nearly shoplifted the lockets for my mother and Prim, I discovered that he had slipped them into my backpack without me knowing about it. I had lain awake that entire night, stewing over it, replaying every moment of our encounter to decide whether I should keep the necklaces as a gift or return them to him.

In the end, the only conclusion I could reach was that Peeta Mellark had only acted out of kindness- he had nothing to gain and asked for nothing in return. I ultimately wrapped the gifts, marked them ‘from Santa,’ and placed them under our pathetic little Christmas tree after Prim had gone to bed on Christmas Eve. We wasted no time finding pictures of my father small enough to cut out and put in each one. We had both gone into Mama’s room on Christmas morning to give her the second locket. She started weeping when she saw what ‘Santa’ had brought for her. Prim and I crawled into her bed with her and held her while she mourned our father once more. She shed angry tears directed at herself for letting Christmas slip past unnoticed, for being so weak, and for putting so much more responsibility on her eldest daughter than any twelve year old should have to shoulder.

When Prim had expressed concern that Santa hadn’t brought anything for me, I explained that Santa did get me what I wanted, because the only thing I asked for was for him to bring something for her and Mama.

As the van finishes backing up to the dock I try to reign in my frantic nerves. It’s probably not even him. I have made several trips past his family’s bakery over the years, coming up with flimsy excuses to go out of my way just to walk past it, and I haven’t seen him working inside for the last few years. A couple of times I even worked up the nerve to go in and make a purchase- only on rare occasions when I’d made especially good tips and I could justify indulging in the cheese buns that I like so much. For several years I often saw him working alongside his father, but I never got up the nerve to go in when he was there. I assume he must have graduated and gone off to college because now I only ever see his father and a pinched-faced blonde woman, who I assume is his mother.

I hear the driver’s side door open and close, and to my dismay, there he is. I watch him through the open roll-up door as he walks around the front of the van and takes the stairs up to the delivery entrance two at a time. I haven’t even gotten a good look at him yet and I can already tell how handsome he’s become. His jeans are the dark denim, manufacturer-worn, perfect-fit designer kind, and his jacket is one of those fitted black ones that looks layered and has a hood and zippers on the front- the kind that every guy looks super-hot in.

He raps on the outside door twice and Prim shoots me a quizzical look when she sees me standing there, chewing my lip and not moving to open it right away. Avoiding her gaze I take a deep, calming breath and finally move to open the door for him. He has his head down, chin tucked into his chest against the cold, and his hands are crammed in his pockets. He doesn’t look up at first as he stamps his feet to knock off the excess snow.

“Merry Christm-“ he starts, but the words die on his lips as he finally looks up at me.

_No way._ There is no way he _recognizes_ me. Is there? My stomach clenches hard as I get a really good look at his face. I could tell he was growing up to be handsome when I would see him inside the bakery but, _holy shit_ , seeing him up close makes it clear that ‘handsome’ doesn’t even begin to do him justice. His eyes are even more startlingly blue than I remember and he has an irresistible smattering of light freckles across his nose and cheeks, which are flushed from the cold. He looks both pleased and bemused, his mouth stretching into a lopsided grin that reveals even, white teeth.

_Fuck._ This is so unfair. He looks like he just stepped out of a J Crew catalogue and I practically look homeless. And my fucking shirt is see through! Of course, I just had to choose a brightly colored stripped bra today. I have a drawer full of ugly, plain white cotton bras, but today had to be the day I wore the one that would be easily visible through my stupid threadbare shirt. My face flushes in embarrassment.

We stare at each other dumbly for a few moments, and I think he is just about to say something when we are interrupted by a loud gruff voice. “Ah, look who it is!” Haymitch exclaims, emerging from the office, walking up to Peeta and shaking his hand heartily, slapping him on the back. “Merry Christmas, son.”

_What?_ This is by far the nicest I have ever seen Haymitch be to anyone. I count myself lucky if I get so much as a grunt and a scowl out of him.

“Merry Christmas, Haymitch,” Peeta says, smiling broadly at the older man. “How’s business?”

Haymitch snorts a laugh at this. “Business? Well plenty of hungry mouths to feed. Does that mean business is good?” He actually gives Peeta a small, grimace-like smile. Apparently his ability to charm isn’t limited to security guards.

Peeta gestures toward the van and says, “Well, maybe we can make it a few less, huh?” God, that smile should be illegal, or at least banned in public places. It has to be a health hazard.

Haymitch pats him on the back again. “Good man, good man. Did the ol’ lady give you any trouble?”

“Nah,” Peeta answers, “what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Dad and I loaded the truck by ourselves while she did some shopping.”

“Well, that explains it,” Haymitch says nodding.

I don’t follow his meaning, but I can probably chalk that up to my general bewilderment with the whole situation. Never in a million years did I think I would see Peeta Mellark, the boy I have thought about every single day for the past ten years, today. This unexpected turn of events in my wretched, boring life has set me totally off kilter.

Peeta and Haymitch continue to talk easily but I stop listening entirely when Peeta removes his knit cap revealing his messy blonde curls. He riffles his hand through them absently and I become totally transfixed by the sight of the short, silky locks slipping through his fingers.

The sound of Prim’s soft voice mercifully startles me out of my trance and I look over to see she is saying something to me. I can’t make sense of her words at first so I ask stupidly, “Huh?”

She smiles knowingly and repeats herself. “I asked where the bathroom is.”

“Oh, um, through that door and to the right,” I say, pointing toward the kitchen.

She turns and walks away just as Haymitch is saying, “Well, I better get back to work, but it was good seeing you, son. Don’t be a stranger.” He shakes Peeta’s hand again as the younger man bids him good evening. As Haymitch walks away he doesn’t even glance in my direction as he barks, “Help the kid unload the van, Sweetheart. You can take off whenever you finish.”

I roll my eyes at Haymitch and look back to Peeta just in time to catch him glancing down at my chest, eyes obviously drawn by the sight of my bra through my shirt. _Oh my god, could a hole please open up and swallow me now?_ His already flushed face is becoming darker by the second and I realize that he is blushing. Oh wow. It hits me that he was actually just checking me out and is embarrassed because I caught him. He smiles shyly, avoiding eye contact with me, and clears his throat. “Well, um, I guess I should unload this,” he says quietly, nodding toward the van.

I follow behind him silently and wait while he opens up the van’s back doors. He steps into the back, and then holds out his hand to me so that I can more easily cross the wide gap between the van and the dock floor. It is dark inside and, for some reason, not being able to see him clearly makes me feel his presence even more intensely. I try to stand unobtrusively off to the side as he begins pulling out bags and bins and setting them toward the doors.

“Is there, um… something I can do, um, to help,” I stutter out awkwardly.

I can just barely make out his head glancing toward me and the faint flash of white teeth gives away his grin in the dark. “It’s okay, _Katniss._ I am just sorting stuff. I got it for now.”

Holy shit. He knows my real name? “How did you…” I trail off, feeling uncertain all of a sudden.

He laughs quietly at my confusion. “The blond girl in there said your name when she was trying to get your attention,” he clarifies.

“Oh, right,” I say, trying to sound as if I knew that and was just recalling it.

“It’s kind of weird,” he intones after a few moments of silence. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get used to it after thinking of you as ‘Lisa’ all these years.”

_Holy fucking hell…_ He _did_ recognize me. _And_ he has been thinking about me ‘all these years.’ I don’t even know what to make of that information, but I don’t miss the pleasant swooping sensation in my stomach and the spark of excitement that courses through me at his words. I want to tell him that I appreciate what he did and that I am not ungrateful even though I acted like I was ten years ago. I want to tell him that I have thought about him every day since that day. I want to throw myself at him and bury my hands in his silky curls, push my face to his neck to breathe in his aroma, and press my body along the entire length of his. Instead I just stand here silently, cursing myself for being such a coward.

I am still trying to formulate a response when I sense him moving toward me. I freeze, thinking for a second that he is going to kiss me as he comes toward me, standing close. But he reaches out a hand and grabs the locket that hangs from my neck and cradles it in his cupped fingers. I am relieved because, let’s face it, I barely know him, but I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t just a little disappointed too.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” he murmurs softly. I thrill at the sensation of this warm breath whispering across my face.

“I didn’t steal it for myself,” I say defiantly, meeting his gaze.

“You didn’t steal it at all,” he responds quietly, his eyes not leaving my face. “I bought it for you.”

“For my mom actually,” I correct him. I expect him to ask why I have it now, but he must sense that it is a sensitive subject because he doesn’t question me further.

Our little bubble of intimacy is broken as we hear the door to the kitchen swing open announcing Prim’s return. She approaches the van, looking back and forth between the two of us, her attention eventually settling on me with a raised eyebrow.

“Peeta, this is my sister, Prim. Prim, Peeta Mellark,” I finally speak up to introduce them awkwardly.

Prim and Peeta both lean over to shake hands over the gap between the loading dock and the van. “It’s very nice to meet you Prim,” Peeta says politely. The two make small talk for a few moments with Prim asking how we know each other and Peeta responding vaguely that we met once several years ago.

Between the three of us it only takes ten minutes or so to unload the van, with Peeta insisting on doing all the heavy lifting and me stubbornly refusing to let him. I am becoming exasperated with the meaningful glances Prim directs at me after even the most innocent and inane communication between Peeta and I.

Once we have unloaded the van, Peeta continues to help us load up the carts with the bins of bread and releasing the chain to let down the roll-up door. When every possible bit of work is completed he takes his time pulling his beanie out of his back pocket and putting it on, then adjusting his gloves. I think he might be delaying having to leave, which excites me even though I am not certain I understand why.

Prim is suddenly fascinated by the binder that we have people sign when they drop off donations, which sits on a small metal table several feet away. I can’t repress my sigh at her obvious attempt to give Peeta and I a few minutes alone.

We stand awkwardly, hands fidgeting and feet shuffling, for another brief moment before Peeta speaks up again. “So, um, Katniss, I was wondering if it would be okay I like, called you sometime… or something.” I am somewhat surprised at how nervous he seems. Is this the same guy that charmed his way out of possible shoplifting charges and made a friend of the surliest old drunk I have ever known? I can’t deny that I find it kind of adorable that he suddenly seems shy to ask me for my number.

I stand there chewing my lip. I want to say yes… _I really want to say yes_. But suddenly I am filled with doubt as all the reasons I have avoided dating in the past filter through my mind. I am poor and he clearly has money, I have a high school education and he is probably about to graduate from college, he is kind and generous and I only look out for myself and my sister… My sister. If I lose focus on Prim, who will take care of her? Who will make sure she has everything she needs and make sure she is studying hard and make sure nobody ever breaks her heart?

But in the end, the decision doesn’t come down to me. “She would love for you to call her sometime, Peeta,” Prim calls from where she stands over by the table. I should have known she was eavesdropping

I blush and glare at her, “ _Prim!”_

“What? I know you _want_ to say yes. You’re probably over there thinking of a thousand reasons not to.” She smirks as I look away, knowing she is right.

I look up and meet Peeta’s eyes. “I guess that would be okay,” I say softly. His face splits in a broad smile and I think I might stop breathing. Yes, definitely a health hazard.

He hands over his phone so that I can put my number in it. I am trying hard to repress my shy smile, but Peeta doesn’t even bother. He seems thrilled that I agreed to let him call me. Sheesh, I haven’t even agreed to go out with him or anything yet.

I hand his phone back and I can clearly hear reluctance in his tone as he says, “Well, I guess I should probably get going. I’ll call you, okay? Soon… Probably way sooner than guy code says I should.”

His last words rouse a laugh out of me and I nod, walking with him over to the door. I hold it as he steps across the threshold and we both just stand there staring at each other for a minute, grinning like a couple of idiots.

“Okay,” he says finally, shaking his head, “I’m going now.” But he still doesn’t turn away.

“Bye, Peeta. I’ll talk to you soon.” I don’t make a move to leave either.

“Close the damn door, Sweetheart! I’m not paying to heat the outdoors!” We both jump at Haymitch’s interruption and Peeta finally starts down the stairs, looking over his shoulder at me repeatedly and then gives me a little wave before he gets in the van.

I stand at the door, ignoring Haymitch’s griping, and watch until the red van has pulled into the alley and out of sight. I direct a scowl at Haymitch as I turn back around. “Since when do we get donations from Mellark Family Bakery?”

“Only when the kid is home from school. The ol’ man can’t sneak us anything when his wife is working with him, but when he’s got the boy with him, they bring the left over bread at the end of the day.”

“Katniss has a date with him,” Prim sing-songs, teasing me.

“I _do not_ have a date with him,” I correct her and she just rolls her eyes, clearly just considering that a technicality.

Haymitch grunts at this. “Oh yeah? Well, he’s a damn good kid. You could do a lot worse, you know .”

 

 

* * *

 

 


	3. December 23. 2013

**December 23, 2013**

I pause outside Katniss’ door and take a deep, calming breath before raising my knuckles for two sharp raps. I hear a commotion erupt inside the apartment and a muffled voice- Prim I think- exclaim excitedly, “He’s here!”

I stand fidgeting nervously for a few more moments while they continue to scuffle around on the other side of the door. When the door finally swings open I am not met by Katniss, as I expect, but by a tall, dark haired guy who looks to be a few years younger than me.

“Hey, you must be Peeta,” he says with a friendly smile as he holds the door open for me. Once he has closed the door behind me he holds out his hand and I shake it. “I’m Rory, Prim’s boyfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, pulling my beanie off and running my hand through my hair. It’s a nervous habit I’ve had since I was a kid, ingrained from years of hearing my mom bitch at me about my hair being messy. I don’t think I have ever been this anxious about going out with a girl before, but I don’t think a date has ever mattered to me this much before.

To say I was shocked to see her at Tesserae House last Tuesday would be an understatement. I had thought about her so much over the past ten years, wondering what had happened to the pretty girl with the sad eyes, but I honestly had not considered the possibility of actually seeing her again. Which is why, when I arrived at Tesserae House, I was astonished to immediately recognize the gorgeous girl in front of me.

Thank god for texting, because my usual social aptitude seems significantly diminished where Katniss is concerned. After she gave me her phone number I was so excited to talk to her that I started texting her the minute I got home, and we continued basically non-stop for six days. I even worked up the nerve to call her a few times and I take it as a good sign that she answered every time, even once when she was at work. Last night, I called her before bed and we ended up having our longest conversation so far, at the end of which I finally risked asking her out. I wanted to wait because, if there is one thing I have learned over the past week, it is that Katniss is very guarded. But when I asked to see her she agreed readily, actually sounding somewhat relieved.

I follow Rory into the apartment and have a seat on the couch, straining to hear Katniss and Prim’s murmured conversation coming from the other room.

“They may be a while,” Rory laughs, nodding toward the room. “I think Prim is more excited than anyone. She has made Katniss change like six times.”

“There is no way she is more excited than me,” I blurt without thinking. I blush, worrying that I sound way too eager to this kid, but he just laughs and nods his head.

“Yeah, those Everdeen girls have that effect, huh?” Rory says smiling knowingly.

Rory and I make small talk for about fifteen minutes, chatting about the Bears’ chances in the playoffs, when the door finally opens and Prim steps out, beaming brightly. “Oh, hi Peeta!” she exclaims… As though she didn’t already know I was here.

I return her smile. “Hey, Prim. Nice to see you ag-“ I  can’t even finish what I was saying as Katniss emerges because I am struck dumb at the sight of her. I stand as I look her up and down, knowing that I don’t stand a chance against this girl.

She is wearing a skin-tight green sweater dress that reveals her amazing figure. She is slender yet utterly feminine with a narrow waist that flares into shapely hips. The dress is short, stopping just below her perfect ass. The only thing that saves it from being scandalous is the fact that she is wearing dark leggings and high-heeled boots. Her hair is down, falling in soft waves around her face and down to her mid-back. The wide, boat-neckline of the dress reveals that she is still wearing the silver locket. In our conversations Katniss has indicated that she inherited the necklace two years ago after her mother’s death, but I don’t really know anything beyond that.

With great effort, I find my voice when it becomes apparent that I am embarrassing her with my prolonged assessment. “Wow, Katniss… you look… wow.” Yup. I’m an idiot when it comes to this girl.

She looks down at herself, smiling shyly. “The dress is Prim’s. She made me wear it,” she finally murmurs uncomfortably.

“Definitely the right call, Prim,” I state simply and both she and Rory laugh. Katniss just bites her lip, trying to keep her smile from growing wider.

“You look really great too,” she says, her eyes raking up me, taking in my dark jeans and black sweater over a blue button-up, before finally meeting mine. There is a spark in her eyes that excites me. I have been with enough girls to recognize that Katniss is attracted to me.

I clear my throat and speak before I can let that thought get too far. “Well, we should probably go. I made a reservation for eight.”

“Oh, a reservation,” Prim raises her eyebrows significantly at Katniss, who returns the look with a glare promising certain death.

“I really hope you didn’t go to any trouble, Peeta,” Katniss says, grabbing a black pea coat that is lying across the back of a chair. I take it from her gently and hold it up, helping her into it and boldly pulling her soft hair out from the collar. She catches my eye over her shoulder and looks surprised for a moment before her lips stretch into another shy smile. She is both sexy and adorable at the same time, and I find her absolutely irresistible.

“Don’t worry,” I respond while she wraps a cream colored scarf around her neck and pulls matching gloves from her pocket. “I didn’t go to much trouble, and I think you’ll like what I have planned.” She looks at me questioningly, but I just give her an enigmatic smile and grab her gloved hand in my bare one, starting toward the door.

We call our goodbyes to Prim and Rory, and just as the door is closing behind us Prim calls out, “Oh, Katniss! Don’t forget, I’ll be staying at Rory’s tonight! The apartment is all yours!” Neither of us misses Prim’s meaning, and Katniss gasps furiously, starting to turn back around.

I try unsuccessfully to stifle my laugh and pull Katniss’ hand leading her toward the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

“Macy’s!?” Katniss exclaims, looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind as we stand on State Street looking up at the storefront.

“Well, not Macy’s exactly… I thought we could go to The Walnut Room,” I say uncertainly. I thought she would appreciate the irony of us coming here for our first date, but now I think it might, in fact, be the lamest idea I could have possibly come up with. What the hell was I thinking, bringing a native Chicagoan to a tourist-trap for god’s sake?

But when Katniss pulls her gaze away from the animated window displays and looks up at me her eyes are alight with excitement. “Really!? I’ve never been there before.”

_What?_ I wonder for a moment how it is possible that, as a Chicago native, she has never once visited such an iconic landmark. But, of course, Katniss’ family probably never had money to spare on an expensive meal. “Well, then. I’m glad that your first time will be with me,” I inform her and hold out my elbow for her to loop her arm through. For some reason my comment causes her to blush furiously.

When we reach the 7th floor I lead Katniss past the long line of people waiting for tables and give the host my name. Katniss is observing our surroundings in complete wonder, standing on tip-toe to see the enormous tree directly in front f us. The host leads us to one of the tables adjacent to the tree and I think her face might split in two from her excited smile.

“Have you really never even seen this place before?” I ask incredulously once we are seated.

She shakes her head, her grin fading. “No, we never really had money for things like this, even when my father was alive. After he died… well, it just wasn’t possible for a lot of reasons,” she pauses for a minute, as though stuck in her melancholy thoughts. Eventually she shakes her head, a rueful smile gracing her lips, “Not least of which is the fact that I am probably still on a lifetime ban.”

I shake my head, “No, you were never banned. Thanks to a dashing, if somewhat chubby, young gentleman who swept in to save the day.”

She laughs, a lovely tinkling sound, and says, “You were not chubby!”

“I was _a_ _little_ chubby,” I say, causing her to laugh even more and there is something exceptionally heartwarming about it. She is normally so reticent and, while she hasn’t talked about it much, I know that she has had a very hard life, filled with a lot of sadness. Yeah, I think I could be content devoting myself to making her laugh.

“Well, you are _definitely_ not chubby now!” she exclaims. I quirk and eyebrow at her with a grin and she blushes. I’ve always tended to associate blushing with fair skinned people, like myself, but Katniss Everdeen blushes _a lot._ I find it very charming.

“So you are saying you approve of my body,” I tease, unable to resist.

She rolls her eyes at me, but doesn’t have a chance to respond as the waitress approaches us. The rest of the meal passes pleasantly. Just like the few times we have spoken over the phone, I do most of the talking as Katniss asks me question after question. I tell her about my brothers, my school, my family Christmas traditions, and even a few mutual topics of conversation like changes occurring around the city and Haymitch and Tesserae House. Katniss clearly doesn’t like to talk about herself, but she is fairly loquacious when I ask her about Prim and it is clear that she is very proud of her sister.

After the meal I order a beer and Katniss opts for some sort of sweet, warm cocktail that smells like apples and has a cinnamon stick floating on the top. I stare at her, transfixed as she presses the cup to her lips and closes her eyes, groaning in pleasure as she tastes it. I shift uncomfortably in my chair, feeling the sound of her moan resonate in my groin.

“Good?” I ask, mortified to hear the tone of my voice come out a bit too high.

She doesn’t seem to notice as she nods and darts her tongue out to lick what looks like cinnamon and sugar off the rim of the glass. _Fuck._ I shift again and decide we need to get out of here. It way too easy for me to focus on all the things I find irresistibly sexy about this girl in this intimate, romantic setting.

When the waitress comes back to check on us I settle the bill right away, telling Katniss that she needn’t rush, but secretly relieved when I see that she is nearly done with her drink anyway. As soon as she finishes we both stand and I help her into her coat once again. When I pull her hair from the collar this time, I lean forward surreptitiously, just enough to catch a whiff of her delicious, spicy sweet scent.

As we walk to the elevator I notice that she has not put her gloves back on and I grab her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. I am delighted when, not only does she not pull away, but she actually looks pretty pleased with the arrangement as she meets my eyes with a warm gaze of her own.

We are back on the first floor and nearing the store’s main entrance when Katniss speaks up again. “So, do you have anything else planned for this date?”

I groan inwardly as it hits me just how cliché I am. Rolling my eyes I say, “I’m kind of ashamed to admit it in hindsight, but I thought we could go ice skating.”

Katniss doesn’t respond, but she stops dead where we stand amid the hustle and bustle of people entering and exiting the store. Looking around I realize that we are right in front of the revolving door where I first laid eyes on Katniss and directly on the spot where I first spoke to her, pretending she was my sister. I glance down at her to find her silver eyes already trained on me.

“This is where we met,” she says softly. I nod silently and she continues. “I… I never thanked you for that day.” She keeps her eyes locked on mine, but she is blinking rapidly, revealing her nervousness.

“It’s not necessary,” I say. “I never expected yo-“ I am silenced, totally without warning, as she rises quickly on her toes and presses her lips to mine. The second I feel her against me my arms come around her instinctively and I don’t care that we are standing in Macy’s amid a busy crowd of holiday shoppers. The only thing I care about is the girl in my arms and how right she feels there.

Katniss doesn’t seem to care where we are either as she twines her fingers around my neck and presses herself against me more firmly, opening her lips to allow my tongue entrance. She tastes of apples and cinnamon and it is all I can do to repress the groan that threatens to well-up in my throat. Her fingernails scratch the nape of my neck softly and I have to break the kiss. It is just too good. I can’t let myself get so worked up with all of these people around.

Katniss looks dazed and bemused as I pull away. “Peeta?”

“Yeah?”

“How attached are you to the ice skating plan?” she asks breathlessly.

“Not very,” I respond, probably sounding pathetically hopeful.

“We could go to my place,” she says all at once, as though she is afraid she will lose her nerve if she doesn’t rush the words.

“Are you sure?” I ask, pitifully eager.

“Yes,” she says firmly. “I have no idea why I’m sure, I just know that I am.”

I don’t need any more confirmation than that so I grab her hand and head toward the revolving door, Katniss and I crowding in the same wedge together, intentionally this time.

 

* * *

 

For the second time in one night I find myself fidgeting nervously outside Katniss’ apartment door. Only this time Katniss is with me, fiddling with her keys in the lock for what feels like an excessively long time.

When she finally swings the door open we both step through calmly, but the minute the door closes, Katniss is in my arms again our mouths tangling together once more. _Thank god._ We were excruciatingly aware of each other during the cab ride over here. I am grateful that Katniss and I seem to be on the same wavelength in this regard.

I unravel her scarf and let it fall to the floor and both of our coats soon follow. After kicking off her boots, Katniss resumes her attention to my mouth, slipping her tongue past my lips, seemingly as eager to taste me as I am to taste her. With her jacket off, my hands have nearly unfettered access to her curves and I let them slip down her back, over her hips, eventually resting on the most amazing ass I think I have ever felt. I squeeze gently, using my hands to press her pelvis closer, into my hips and the groan that has wanted to escape since our kiss inside Macy’s finally erupts.

She gasps and pulls away and I’m not sure if it was my loud groan, or the contact with my erection that startled her. “Are you okay?” I ask, meeting her gaze. I know that my eyes must be filled with pure lust and longing, and both are present in hers’ too, but I can also detect a degree of trepidation there that causes me to pause. “Katniss, what is it?” I ask.

She looks at me for just a moment, then shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says firmly and I can’t help but think that she has just resolved to do something she may not have been entirely committed to before.

I pull away and hold her at arm’s length. “We don’t have to do this,” I pant. “I’m moving too fast. Let’s just slow down… We don’t have to do this tonight.”

“Peeta, I want to. Don’t you?” she asks, concern etched across her face.

“Yes! You have no idea how much, but… I don’t know. I feel like _you_ feel like something is… off,” I say.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” She pauses for a few moments, seemingly gathering her thoughts. “Okay, I’ll tell you… I just don’t want you to like, freak out or make it a bigger deal than it is.” She sounds so stern when she says this that I can’t help but smile, despite the fact that I am more than a little concerned about what she has to tell me. I nod and indicate that she should continue. “I, um, haven’t _actually_ done this before.”

“You mean, you haven’t brought someone home on the first date?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Well, that is true, I haven’t brought someone home on the first date… But, I also haven’t brought someone home period.”

It takes me a second, but suddenly her meaning dawns on me. Suddenly I realize why her face was so red earlier tonight when I said something about her experiencing her first time with me. _Holy shit._ Is it possible that she is trying to tell me that she is a virgin? On one hand, I can see how that would happen. Katniss has basically devoted her life to taking care of her sister to the almost complete exclusion of consideration for herself. But on the other hand, she’s not only beautiful, she’s so fucking _hot._ I’m sure there must have been tons of guys trying to get with her.

“Are you a virgin, Katniss?” I finally ask bluntly.

She bites her lower lip, worrying it back and forth between her teeth. I remember being fascinated by this same gesture when I was 13 without really understanding why. Now I understand completely. “Yes,” she finally murmurs quietly. “Is that okay?” She sounds so shy and uncertain.

“Katniss, I don’t care if you’ve been with 100 guys or no guys at all. That doesn’t matter to me. But are you sure _you’re_ okay with it? I don’t want to move faster than you’re comfortable with,” I say, running my hands up and down the backs of her arms, wishing I could feel her skin rather than the soft sweater fabric that stands in my way.

Her silver gaze is intense when it meets mine again. “Peeta, I… I’ll be very direct with you. I am 22 years old, and I’ve never had a boyfriend. You are only the third guy I’ve kissed and the first one that I’ve been… _attracted_ to.” The way she says this last part makes it clear that she is not talking about whether or not she thinks I’m handsome. She is saying she _wants me_ , which I had already deduced. But hearing her say it still sends a frisson of excitement through me that lands in my groin. “I am okay with this, Peeta. More than okay with it, I _want_ this… _a lot,”_ she concludes. Wow, I guess I need to reevaluate just how reserved I think she is. She is being pretty open right now.

My only response to her words is to slide my hands down her arms one final time, lacing my fingers through hers again before leaning down to kiss her. I relish her immediate acquiescence to my probing tongue. After a moment she pulls away, breathless, and shooting me a coy look under her eyelashes, pulls my hand to lead me toward the bedroom. She is so fucking sexy and I don’t think she is even trying.

I have never been with a virgin before, but I guess I always expected that it would involve a lot of reassuring and coaxing and guidance. However, Katniss seems especially adept at shattering my expectations, catching me by surprise, as she grasps the hem of her sweater dress, and lifts it over her head with no hesitation whatsoever.

I reach her in two strides and pull her to me roughly, burying my fingers in her hair and kissing her hard. Katniss meets me with no reservations, breaking our kiss only long enough to pull my sweater over my head roughly. I slide my hands over her ass and hips to push her leggings down and, crouching, let my hands trace down the entire length of her legs to bare them so that she stands before in only her simple black bra and panties.

I kiss my way back up her body, across her stomach, dipping my tongue into her belly button, over the swell of her breasts above the bra. Here I pause to trace an index finger along the line where the fabric meets her deliciously soft skin. “No stripes today?” I ask, unable to resist teasing us both- her for her see-through shirt, and me for getting caught staring.

She just shakes her head, smiling slightly, and I think my knees might give out at the naked lust evident in her eyes. I’m sure mine must look the same right now. The look she is giving me reassures me that she is perfectly fine with where we are headed. I waste no time in removing her bra and slipping my hands into the back of her panties, cupping her ass and letting the panties join the rest of her clothing on the floor.

She gasps again when I use my hands on her ass to pull her close and let her feel how hard I am again, more erotic this time as she feels my clothing against her naked skin. I try to trap her mouth in another kiss but she evades me, clearly intent on divesting me of my clothing as she begins grasping frantically at the buttons of my collared shirt. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to feel her skin against mine, and between the two of us I am naked within seconds.

We stand for just a moment, observing each other. I knew her body was amazing just by seeing her in the tight dress, but now I have to conclude that she just might be the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen, all soft olive skin tracing over firm muscles and gentle curves. I groan and pull her to me once again, capturing her mouth in a punishing kiss which she meets eagerly.

She is the first to move toward the bed, pulling me on top of her, settling her knees on either side of my hips so that my erection is nestled against her center. I know I need to pull away so that I can do more for her- so that I can make sure she is ready- but she seems to have other ideas as she lifts her hips and presses herself against me, moaning.

_Fuck._ That feels so good. I need to move fast because I don’t think I am going to last too long, ashamed as I am to admit it. With great effort I pull away from her just as she is lifting her hips again and she mutters a protest, grasping at my back in an attempt to hold me in place. She is so perfect, I don’t think I have ever been more eager to make a girl come before, so I move down her body, capturing her nipple between my teeth and then soothing it by sucking gently, causing her to writhe and arch her back off the mattress. I don’t spend much time on her breasts, however, having another goal in mind as I continue to trace my tongue down her body.

I don’t think Katniss is fully aware of my intentions, lost as she is in a haze of lust, because when she feels the first lick of my tongue on her wet folds she cries out in surprise, _“Peeta!”_

I raise my head and meet her eyes briefly before using my fingers to deliberately spread her folds and say, “Keep your legs open for me, Katniss,” deliberately letting her feel my breath against her wetness. She groans in resignation and complies, letting her thighs fall against the bed and thumping her head back down to the mattress.

I make short work of her, licking up and down the entire length of her slit a few times before concentrating my efforts on her clitoris, alternating between sharp flicks, gentle suction, and soft licks with the flat of my tongue. Within minutes her thighs are shaking, her breath coming in erratic gasps, and I know she is close. I bare my teeth in a gentle nip to her clit and it sends her over the edge, moaning deeply and fisting her fingers in the bed sheets as she is overtaken by an intense orgasm.

I move off of her briefly so that I can retrieve my wallet from my jeans and pull out a condom. Lying down next to Katniss once again, I am intent on talking to her before we go any further, just to make sure this is really what she wants. Before I can speak, however, she has captured my lips in a fierce kiss and is pulling the condom from my grasp.

She makes short work of pinching the end and rolling it onto my length. At my questioning glance she laughs softly and says, “Prim and I practiced on a banana when she started dating Rory. I wanted to make sure she knew how to be safe.”

I look at her in astonishment, her words causing a rush of deep feeling as I am reminded of just how much of her life she has devoted to taking care of her sister. “You are so amazing,” I tell her softly, capturing her lips again.

I climb over her again and position myself at her entrance, holding her gaze intently as I push inside her, just an inch or two. She is so wet and tight. I have never felt anything this good before, and I know that I am too worked up to last more than a few seconds. “Fuck, Katniss. I’m sorry, but this is going to be fast.”

She just raises her hands to my face and pulls me down for another kiss, raising her hips to accommodate my entry as I push in further. I am about halfway when she gasps in discomfort and I pause. “I’m sorry. Are you okay? Should I stop?” She shakes her head, kissing me again pushing her hips into me, causing my length to slip in the rest of the way.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” I groan loudly, trying to hold still. But Katniss has other plans as she pulls her legs up higher around my hips and reaches down, running her hands across my ass, encouraging me to move. And boy was I right when I said I wouldn’t last long. About eight thrusts, to be exact, before I groan loudly, the most inhuman sound I think I have ever made as I experience an exceptionally long and intense orgasm. Katniss runs her fingers through my hair gently as I come down, and the gesture feels so loving.

“You don’t fool me Katniss,” I mutter almost incoherently into her neck.

“What do you mean?” she asks, amusement evident in her voice.

“You are not nearly as independent and self-sufficient as you would have people believe,” I tell her.

She kisses my shoulder gently. “You’ve got me, there. I have a weakness for formerly chubby, nosy little good Samaritans,” she says with a chuckle.

“Well, that works out perfectly for me then,” I say, leaning up to place a kiss on her nose, “because I just happen to qualify on all accounts. And I have a weakness for hopelessly incompetent shoplifters.”

I gingerly push myself up to pull out of her and stand so that I can dispose of the condom. When I come back from the bathroom Katniss observes me with a frown etched into her brow. “Are you leaving?” she asks.

I pause, surprised. “What? No. Unless you want me to.”

“No!” she says emphatically. I return to the bed, gathering her in my arms and she rests her head on my chest. “I don’t really like being here alone,” she says softly.

“Well, I don’t go back to school until the fifth. I’ll stay here every night until then if you want me to,” I say, pressing a kiss into her hair and inhaling the spicy, sweet scent I only got a hint of earlier.

She laughs. “Yeah, Prim probably won’t mind since it would mean I am seeing you more than once,” she says, raising her head to look at me.

I become serious as I say, “This is a more than once thing for me Katniss. I know I am going back to school, but I think we can still make this work, if we wanted to… If you want to.”

She glances up at me. “Well, I guess we can talk about it between now and the time you leave,” she says noncommittally.

“I can accept that,” I tell her, smiling to myself. “I’m pretty good when it comes to talking.” She presses her face into my chest so that I can feel her answering smile.

 

 


	4. December 23, 2017

**December 23, 2017**

I take my change from the cashier, returning her ‘Merry Christmas’ half-heartedly as I gather my bags and shuffle away from the register through the thick crowd of last-minute shoppers. Finding a space between two racks where I can stand relatively out of the way I stand on my tiptoes, craning my neck to see above the crowd. _Where the hell is he?_

He insisted we split up so that we could finish all of our shopping faster, but I knew this would happen. We were supposed to meet at the register over a half hour ago. I waited for him to show up for fifteen minutes before I decided to go ahead and get in line, sure that he would be along soon. Now I have made it all the way through the busy line and he still hasn’t appeared.

I sigh in exasperation and decide to text him. _Where are you?_ , I type.

He answers right away, _I’m waiting for you! Where are you?_

_I’m at the registers and you’re not here,_ I return.

Once again he responds immediately, _No. We were supposed to meet at the center State St entrance. I’ve been waiting here._

I scoff and roll my eyes, walking in that direction. I am beyond irritated now. I _know_ he said we should meet at the registers. I am in a full blown snit by the time I see him standing right in front of the revolving door, a bright smile on his face as he sees me.

“Peeta! _You_ were the one that suggested we meet at the register!” I exclaim. I pause for a second, noticing that he doesn’t even have any bags. “Did you even do any shopping?” I ask in confusion.

He shakes his head, his smile remaining firmly in place as he drops down to one knee in front of me. And right here in the middle of the bustling crowd of Christmas shoppers- in the exact spot where we met fourteen years ago, and where we shared our first kiss four years ago- he pulls a little silver box out of his pocket, and we take the first step toward spending the rest of our lives together.

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this story is taken from Marshall Field's original slogan which was "Give the Lady What She Wants."


End file.
